! PS 



A DORIC REED 

By 

Zitella Cocke 



UBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No.. 

Shelf....C.^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



\ 



F 



OATEN STOP SERIES 
II 



A DORIC REED 

BY ZITELL/rCOCKE 




BOSTON COPELAND AND DAY 
M D CCC XCV 




Y" — ■ 



'as* 



7S 1-34 & 

C4 



COPYRIGHT 1895 BY COPELAND AND DAY 



THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY 

\ OF MY BROTHER, JOHN BINION COCKE, 

WHOSE NOBILITY OF SOUL ENDEARED 

HIM TO HONORABLE MEN AND 

TRUE WOMEN. 



CONTENTS 



Page 



SUNRISE IN AN ALABAMA CANEBRAKE I 

POMEGRANATES 4 

WOOD VIOLET 5 

THE GIFT OF LIFE 6 

*T IS TIME WE TWO WERE MAYING J 

LOVE-MAKING IN HAY-MAKING 9 

SOMETHING IO 

GREEK MOTHER'S LULLABY II 

GODS OF HELLAS 12 

LOVE AND LAUREL 1 5 

THE COMFORT OF THE PINES 1 6 

TIME AND WE 1 8 

TWO MAIDENS I 8 

HOMESICKNESS jy 

A MINISTERING SPIRIT 21 

THE DYING NEVER WEEP 22 
THE DEAD MOTHER 
MOCKING-BIRD 



23 

2 5 

SONG OF THE MISSISSIPPI 27 



APRIL FOOLS 

JUNE 

AUGUST 

THE SOLACE OF NATURE 34 

vii 



29 
33 



CONTENTS 






Page 


CIRCUMSTANCE 


36 


THE BLEACHER 


37 


THE THRESHING-FLOOR 


39 


A RAINY DAY 


40 


AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT 


42 


FOR LOVE'S SAKE 


44 


NEW LOVE 


44 


WILD ROSE BY THE SEA 


46 


MY MARGUERITE 


47 


THE HERMIT THRUSH 


48 


THE JAY-BIRD 


49 


THE IDLE BOY 


5o 


DETHRONED 


5i 


ARCADY 


5 1 


FOR ME 


53 


RESPONSIBILITY 


53 


THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 


55 


FIRST EASTER MORN 


56 


EASTER FLOWERS 


58 


EASTER-TIDE 


59 


THE EASTER FEAST 


60 


THE BABBLING BROOK 


61 


WHEN POLLY TAKES THE AIR 


63 


nancy's way 


64 


MY GREAT-GREAT UNCLE'S WIFE 


66 


MISS nancy's GOWN 


68 


CASTLES IN SPAIN 


70 


viii 





s - 





CONTENTS 


Page 


ON AN OLD 


CABINET 


72 


HER NAME 




74 



SONNETS 

BACH 79 

BEETHOVEN 80 

MOZART 8l 

MENDELSSOHN 82 

SCHUMANN 83 

SCHUBERT 84 

CHOPIN 85 

PATIENCE 86 

SUCCESS 87 

PONTIUS PILATE 88 

TO WORDSWORTH 89 

THE LONELY SHORE 90 

A SONNET 91 



IX 



j 



A DORIC REED 



SUNRISE IN AN ALABAMA 
CANEBRAKE 

THE lordly sun, rising from underworld, 
Shoots yellow beams aslant the tangled 
brake 5 
Magnolia, with her mirror leaves unfurled, 
Hath caught the glancing radiances that 
make 
Bright aureoles around her virgin bloom — 
A pale madonna, 'neath her hood of 

green, 
With unprofaned cheek and brow serene ; 
The pines upon the uplands merge from 

gloom 
Of night, and with the dawn's intenser glow 
Their serried lances bright and brighter 
grow! 

The conquering light ever ascending higher 
Fills Alabama's stream with molten fire 5 



A DORIC REED 

A myriad rays pierce down the wooded 

slopes 
Till forest vistas form kaleidoscopes! 
The dogwood blossoms shine like stars of 

m g° ld > 
Quick flows the amber of the tall sweet 

gum, 
And swifter still the shifting colors come 
To tulip-tree and luscious-scented plum, 
And sassafras, with buddings manifold. 

The yellow jasmine and lush muscadine 
With crab and honeysuckle intertwine, 
And thousand odors sweet confederate, 
And clear, cool air so interpenetrate 
That sky above and blooming earth beneath 
Seem to exhale a long, delicious breath! 
But hark! woodpecker beats his dull tattoo, 
The jay bird screams, low moans the shy 

cuckoo, 
Loud chirps the blackbird, gently woos the 

dove, 
Till chains of melody link grove to grove ; 
The red-bird shows his scarlet coat and crest 
And sounds his bugle call, while from his 

nest 
In deeper woods the hermit thrush intones, 



SUNRISE 

With heavenly mind, his morning orisons 5 
Kingfisher, like a spirit of the air, 

His swift flight wheels, circling with rain- 
bow hue 
The water's edge ; and see! a hawthorn fair 
Grows tremulous, for on her tender spray- 
Sits nature's poet, a romancer gay, 
Sweet mocking-bird, singing, as he were fain 
To greet the sun with all that bird could 
say, 
Or think or dream within his tiny brain 5 
Anon, his throat overflows with tuneful 

might, 
And straight upon a poplar's topmost 
height 
He flies, and his full diapason sounds. 
From stop to stop, and now from side to 
side, 
He flings his clear-toned dithyrambic rounds, 
Then, masterly, he runs the gamut wide 
Of his rare instrument, till joy and hope 
And sweetest love speak from the wondrous 

scope 
In epic majesty, now soft, now strong, 
And lo! the air is throbbing with his song! 
The climax reached, from bough to bough 
he drops 

3 



A DORIC REED 

With trailing cadences ; then in a copse 
Below — low, liquid warbles uttering — 
He falls with palpitating breast and wing! 
Effulgent light illumes the broad blue tent 

of heaven, 
The sleeping Earth awakes to toil : the Sun 

is risen! 



POMEGRANATES 

POMEGRANATES sweet and pome- 
granates sour 
Hang in the red October sun : 
Nobody knew, when they were in flower 

And their life had just begun, 
Which was the sweet and which was the 
sour, 
Till they ripened one by one. 

The blooms were hats of cardinal hue 

And trumpets of yellow flame 5 
And as the fruits to perfection grew, 

Their red-coats were just the same. 
Then the darts of the sun cleft the rinds in 

two, 
And their deep-red hearts burst out to view, 
4 



WOOD VIOLET 

But till they were tasted, nobody knew 
Where the sweet and the sour came. 
For pomegranate sour is a bitter cheat, 
But a luscious thing is pomegranate 
sweet ! 

In youth-time's bright and rosy bower 

A bevy of maidens play : 
Their fresh young life is just in flower, 
But which is the sweet and which is the sour, 

Pray, who will dare to say ? 

But there will come a day 
When life's sharp darts 
Will cleave their hearts, 
And taste we must in adversity's hour 
Which nature is sweet and which is the sour. 



WOOD VIOLET 

VIOLET in the mossy wood, 
By a streamlet growing, 
With her head within her hood 

When the Wind was blowing, 
Hid her head so modestly 
Till the rough Wind had passed by. 

5 



A DORIC REED 

But Lord Sun came thro' the wood, 

In his armor blazing. 
Violet, with her blue eyes, stood, 

On his brightness gazing. 
When my Lord Sun had passed by, 
Violet laid her down to die. 



THE GIFT OF LIFE 

I SAW one whose misshapen form and face 
Did mark him spurned and barred from 

Nature's grace 
Of motherhood, — as 'twere a step-dame's 

spite 
Had smitten him with bitter curse and 

blight — 
Yet lifting vision bleared to smiling sky — 
He laughed to see the Summer birdlings 

fly- 
And clapped distorted palms, and sang a 

song, 
Unshamed and all unconscious of his wrong. 
O sweet, mysterious gift of life, — that 

scorns 
6 



'TIS TIME WE TWO 

The thrall of Fate, her bufferings and 

thorns, 
And bound in chains, rejoices still to be — 
And by that joy divine proves its divinity ! 



'TIS TIME WE TWO WERE 
MAYING 

OH, let us go a-Maying : 
The warm south wind is blowing, and 
the wood is fresh and green, 
And whispering leaves are saying 
We are losing all by staying, 
When sweet the grass is growing, and the 
cowslips in between. 

'T is time that we were Maying : 
The birds will sing the sweeter when they 
know that there are two 
In forest pathways straying 
Who can tell what they are saying, — 
And cloud-ships sail the fleeter through the 
tender melting blue. 



A DORIC REED 

*T is time we two were Maying ; 
For Summer days are flying, and grim Win- 
ter comes apace. 
And pleasure scorns delaying, 
Nor will tarry for our praying : 
Then why should we be sighing, when the 
days are full of grace ! 

'T is joy to go a-Maying, 
When hawthorn boughs are filling with 
sweet odors field and grove, 
And blushes are betraying — 
What the lips dare not in saying — 
And two young hearts are thrilling to the 
magic touch of love ! 

How shall we go a-Maying, 
When Winter winds are blowing, and the 
skies are no more fair ? 
With love forever staying, 
We shall always go a-Maying, 
And find sweet flowers growing e'en when 
fields are bleak and bare. 






LOVE-MAKING IN HAY-MAKING 

LOVE'S time is his own, 
In frigid or torrid or temperate zone. 
In winter or summer or springtide, or whether 
The sunshine is glorious, or winds stretch 

their tether 
To batter a city or play with a feather. 
Love will have his way, 
Whatever the weather; 
And yet in the days that are gone, as to-day, 
The making of love and the making of hay 
Somehow go together. 

Love's way is his own, 
In frigid or torrid or temperate zone. 
And whether at noontide, at eve, or at morn- 
ing, 
He comes as he chooses, and comes without 

warning, 
And prisons and barriers are but his scorning. 
So Love has his way 
In spite of the weather; 
But why in the present and past, tell me, 

pray, 
Do making of love and the making of hay 
Always go together ? 



SOMETHING 

A SOMETHING hovers in the air, 
And poises o'er the naked tree, 
And rides upon the winged cloud, 

Yet hath no form the eye can see; 
But to the deeper, inward sight, 

It is a presence sweet and true, 
That fills the universe with joy, 

And wakes the earth with impulse new ! 

A something in the forest wood, 

It scarcely may be named a voice, 
Yet fettered captives hear its call, 

And in their longing hearts rejoice: — 
A subtile whisper in the breeze, 

So soft, it seems a spirit's breath, 
Yet leafless boughs grow tremulous 

With ecstasy, at what it saith ! 

A something rises with the morn, 

And lingers with the sun's last ray, 
Brings rapture to the silent night, 

And lustre to the shining day; 
With yearning, half of bliss and pain, 

It swells my heart, and, wondering, 
I ask, — What can it be ? A bird 

Sings at my window, — "It is spring! " 
10. 



mm*f* ~~f i»n - • »*■ ■■ ■»» 



' fc-*U^ 



GREEK MOTHER'S LULLABY. 

SLEEP, my child 5 no care can cumber 
Thy young heart, nor break thy slum- 
ber, — 
Love doth all thy moments number. 
Let thy sleep 
Be sweet and deep! 
While thy mother's arms caress thee, 
May great Zeus protect and bless thee! 

Gentle zephyrs woo and kiss us, 
Sweet with breath of dear Cephisus, 
Soft with music of Ilissus. 

Zephyrs' wings 

Are downy things. 
While thy mother's lips caress thee, 
May great Zeus protect and bless thee! 

Sleep, and see Olympus shining, — 
Where the gods, in bliss reclining, 
Know not pain nor mortal pining $ 

Heavenly beams 

Shall light thy dreams. 
While thy mother's hopes caress thee, 
May great Zeus protect and bless thee ! 

Rest, and in thy dreaming follow, — 
Through the flow'ry glade and hollow, — 

1 1 



^ ^v 



I 



A DORIC REED 

In the chase, with swift Apollo ; 

Ne'er so fleet 

Are mortal feet. 
While thy mother's smiles caress thee, 
May great Zeus defend and bless thee! 

Dream, and see bright Eros springing 
Through the air, his arrows flinging, — 
Keenest joy and sorrow bringing. 

Ah, his wings 

Hide cruel stings! 
While thy mother's tears caress thee, 
May great Zeus defend and bless thee ! 

Soft as summer breezes calling, 
Light as summer roses falling, 
Slumber woos to dear enthralling. 

Sweet and deep 

My darling' s sleep ; 
Love and joy and hope caress thee! 
Zeus will guard thee, Zeus will bless thee! 

GODS OF HELLAS 

OYE gods of sunny Hellas, are ye gone 
forevermore 
From the crystal caves of Ocean and the 
singing, wave-kissed shore ? 
12 



GODS OF HELLAS 

Are ye hiding in the mountains, do ye lurk 

within the streams? 
Can ye come no more to mortals in their 

longings and their dreams ? 
Have ye quit serene Olympus, — is it o'er, 

your golden reign ? 
And the grand Idaean Mother with her fair 

immortal train, 
Shall they never come again? 

O ye gods of sunny Hellas, do the clouds 
enfold you now 

From our mortal ken, as when ye leaped 
from high Olympus' brow 

To the green Thessalian forests and the 
founts of Castaly, — 

Or to fierce Scamander's raging tide, to 
fight for th' Atridae ? 

Are Dodona's oaks forsaken, and the heaven- 
inspired Dove, — 

Shall she never utter more within the dark 
and mystic grove 
The dread oracles of Jove ? 

Does the pure, untarnished Artemis, with 

silver-sandalled feet, 
Lead her goddess nymphs no longer to the 

chase, — a huntress fleet ? 

13 



■>■ 



A DORIC REED 

Nor the winged messenger of gods make 

bright the common air? 
Nor the blue-eyed virgin Pallas heed the 

maiden's "plaining prayer? 
Does the Goddess of the Graces hold her 

prize of golden fruit ? 
Do the waters of bright Helicon awake 

Apollo's lute? 
Are the Muses all grown mute ? 

Nay, the gods of sunny Hellas give us answer 

when we call 5 
We shall hear them, if our struggling souls 

we loose from worldly thrall, — 
Bring the eyes to see the substance in the 

shadow j for 'tis so, 
Plastic Nature yields her secrets to the hearts 

that love her; — lo! 
Echo lives on yonder hills — fair Dryads 

speak, and Zephyrs fan 
Out of brook-born reed-pipes, music sweet 

as when the great god Pan 
After trembling Syrinx ran ! 



14 



* $. ^^s/SI ^ * — " * — " **• 



LOVE AND LAUREL 

LOVELY Daphne, from Apollo flying, 
Is no fable in our world to-day. 
Tender swains with ardent love are sighing, 
Pretty maidens hear and run away. 

Yet will Love not always be a-woo- 
ing, — 
Fate oft interposes her decree. 
Lo ! Apollo, his dear one pursuing, 
Sees her changed into a Laurel-tree. 

And the Laurel-tree his heart consoling, — 
Heart of pain, of sweetest love bereft, — 
In his nature, with a power controlling, 
Fills the void that gentle Daphne left. 
Laurel-blossoms cheer him, love resign- 
ing* 
Sacred to Apollo's lofty name; 

Laurel-leaves, his noble brow entwning, 
Tell to men and gods his lasting fame. 

Can the Laurel, as in the beginning, 

Sighing swains from Beauty's sway recall ? 
Laurel leaves and blossoms, are they winning 
Love-lorn souls from passion's burning 
thrall ? 

15 



A DORIC REED 

Yea, Ambition woos and wins Apollo, 
In the present as in days gone by: 

If the Laurel blooms, think not he'll 
follow, 
Lovely Maiden, when you turn and fly ! 



THE COMFORT OF THE PINES 

I FAIN would seek that brotherhood, 
The monastery of the wood; 
Earth-bound and tempest-tossed, yet given 
The blessed calm and peace of heaven ! 

Tall hooded monks, in solemn band, 
Uplifting prayerful arms they stand, 
Intoning whispered orison 
And glad triumphant antiphon! 

Brave brothers, yielding limb and form 
Unto the insult of the storm, 
Or battling in exultant song 
Against the fierce tornado's wrong! 

Sublimely patient! grandly calm! 
Dispensing life-inspiring balm, 
16 



THE COMFORT OF THE PINES 

Till wind-swept plain and forest dense 
Are comforted with rich incense $ 

Till solace, far beyond their ken, 
Enwraps the toil-worn brains of men, 
And bruised hearts their anguish ease 
Mid soothing, healing ministries ! 

O brothers strong, did the same Hand 
Frame you that made me, — ye who stand 
Undaunted in unchanging light 
Through Winter's wrath and Time's de- 
spite ? 

Who feel life's cruel strife and stress 
Untainted by its bitterness, 
Whose deepest sigh, whose sorest tear, 
Such sweetness gives to atmosphere, 

That ruthless Winds, so long withstood, 
Become your ministers of good, 
And bear upon their dying breath 
The very antidote of death ! 



17 






TIME AND WE 

IMPROVE the moments while you may, 
For Time is flying, mortals say 5 

But Time saith nay. 
'T is we, alas ! who come and go, 

And Time doth stay 5 
For Time doth like a river flow. 
Yet in its secret depths below, 

Sweet fountains play, 
And youth perpetual bestow, 

While swift away 
Our frail barks drift to weal or woe. 



A 



TWO MAIDENS 

LADDIE sailed out on a calm blue 

sea, 
And two maidens fell a-weeping. 

"Alas! 1 ' said they, 

"*Tis a doleful day j 

Mayhap nevermore 

To the sweet green shore 

Shall lover to me 

And brother to thee — 
18 



HOMESICKNESS 

Shall lover to thee 
And brother to me — 
Come back from the treacherous, smiling 
sea." 

A good ship went down in a wild, wild sea, 
And two maidens fell a-weeping. 
The years passed by, 
And two cheeks were dry: — 
A wife and a mother, with babe on her knee, 
Sat crooning a tender old lullaby, 
Nor thought of the lover beneath the sea ; 
Bat at eventide, 
By a lone fireside, 
A sister sat weeping for him who had died, 
Who came nevermore 
To the bright green shore 
To wander with her the sweet meadows o'er. 



HOMESICKNESS 

LIKE children in a garden fair, 
Who wander thro' each flowerful maze, 
And drink from sunny founts with glee, 
And look with long and lingering gaze 

19 



A DORIC REED 

Upon the wondrous scene, — yet fain 
Would be at home for love and rest, — 

So we, in this bright world of ours, 

With strange homesickness are possest! 

Through garden fair and palace proud 

We vainly seek our hearts to please. 
Life spreads her feast ; we sit us down, 

Yet are we never quite at ease — 
Some hope, some yearning, stirs the soul, 

E'en with the chalice at our lips, — 
Some rapturous strain from shores afar, 

That doth all meaner mirth eclipse! 

What meaneth it that we should weep 

More for our joys than for our fears, 
That we should sometime smile at grief 

And look at Pleasure's show thro 1 tears? 
Alas! — but homesick children we, 

Who would, but cannot, play the while — 
We dream of nobler heritage, — 

Our Father's home — our Father's smile! 

Yet Earth, kind mother, fain would please, 

And is herself so fair to see, 
And offers many a cup of joy, 

But none without satiety 5 
20 



A MINISTERING SPIRIT 

And she shows many a garden fair, 
That tempts our eager feet to roam, 

Yet never are we quite at ease, 
And never feel we quite at home! 



A MINISTERING SPIRIT 

WHEN I was dead one year, I came 
Unto mine own, — it was so sweet 
To see their faces and to hear 

The voices that I could not greet: — 
Within the old, familiar home, 

They talked and laughed with youthful 
zest, — 
Brave brothers and fair sisters dear, — 
Nor little dreamed who was their guest. 

They measured out the morrow's plans, 

And counted joys that filled to-day, 
Their eager eyes sought present good, — 

I was a being passed away: — 
The world was with them and did lure, 

With throng of happy, living things 
They could not feel my spirit touch, 

Nor hear the rustle of my wings! 

21 



A DORIC REED 

And all went forth, save one alone, 

Who to the window casement stole 
Where erst we two were wont to sit, — ■ 

And in the anguish of her soul, 
Wept long and sore, with trembling hands 

Upon her tear-washed face, and cried: 
" God pity me this woful day, — 

This was the day my brother died! " 

Then, with a spirit's subtle ken 

God-given, — did I minister 
Sweet comfort, such as God gave me 

Unmeasured, — gave I unto her. 
Till, sad with pleasure's surfeit, — they 

Who went, returning, found no trace 
Of woe in her, and whispered low: — 

" She wears God's glory on her face! " 



THE DYING NEVER WEEP 

THE dying never weep! 
Does vision of the heavenly height 
Break in upon their waning sight? 
Or doth God wipe away all tears, 
Ere yet they touch th' eternal years? 
Is there no weeping for the eyes 
That soon shall ope in Paradise? 
22 



THE DEAD MOTHER 

While we our tearful vigil keep, 
And wonder that they do not weep! 

The dying never weep ! 
But oh, the living weep, and cry 
For God's dear pity, as they lie 
Before His throne in helplessness 
And break their hearts in vain distress, 
The while His saints in blessed place 
Behold the beauty of His face, 
And drink His peace, with rapture deep, 
And wonder, we for them should weep! 



THE DEAD MOTHER 

HOW still the house! The light peer- 
ing between 
The close-knit vines that o'er the casement 

lean, 
Falls faint and low, — fearing to touch the 
bed 
Where I lie cold and dead! 

The bird whose song awoke me with the 

dawn, 
And filled with melody the fragrant lawn, 
This morning sang a faltering, plaintive lay, 

away 

23 



A DORIC REED 

Fond, weeping friends caress my marble 

brow 
And tell my deeds of good, as they, somehow, 
Would fain eke out in tender words and tears 
The love of mortal years! 

And kindred hands, for many a yearestranged, 
Have o'er my form the friendly clasp ex- 
changed, 
And I, in death, have healed the bitter strife 
I sorely wept in life! 

The conscious door opes noiselessly, and he 
Who had few words of tenderness for me 
Kneels at my side and cries: " Couldst thou 
but live! 
Forgive, sweet wife, forgive I" 

Yet I am calm, with calmness of the dead 
Who, by the love of God, are comforted 5 — 
My peace doth like a mighty river roll, 
And rest unto my soul! 

But hark! a voice — a cry, — so small, so 

faint ! 
My child ! — In Paradise I hear thy plaint ! 
O God ! — Grant but to me its steps to guide, 

And I ask naught beside! 

24 



MOCKING-BIRD 

FULL-THROATED, trim, 
Dapper of limb, 
Agile, alert, 
Nimbly expert, 
Hanging somehow 
On topmost bough, 
A-top of trees, — 
Saying with ease 
What other birds 
Strive to attain, — 
Weaving their words 
Over again 
In his refrain ! — 

Deep in the wood 
Tormenting owls, 
Changing his mood, 
Home to farm-brood, 
Teasing the fowls: 
Out on the grass 
Quick to surpass 
Fleetest insect, 
Running erect, 
Darts at his prize, 
Then swiftly flies 



25 



A DORIC REED 

To myrtle bower, 

There in full power 
The world to capture 
With his wild rapture, — 

Calling and cooing, 

Wailing and wooing: 

An ode to his love, 

A lyric to Dove, 

A challenge to Wren, 

To Blue-bird and Hen, 

To Bob-white and Kildee, 

To Catbird and Pewee, 

To Robin and Thrush: 

Until the whole tree-full 

Of sweet singers gleeful 

Lose heart and hush: 

Outsung and confounded, 

Enchanted, astounded, 
And flying afar, seek a covert to light on, 
Away from this wonderful, maddening 
Chrichton! 



26 



SONG OF THE MISSISSIPPI 

OMEN, ye are wise, ye mortals are wise, — 
With work of your hands and sight of 
your eyes! 
With reaching down deep to record that lies 
On earth's burning heart j with reading the 

skies, 
And telling the stars — O men, are ye wise ? 
For secrets I know, 
As onward I flow — 
From aeons long gone 
Ere yet ye had won 

Your place 'neath the sun — 
Ay, secrets ye yearn 
To grapple and learn. 

And ripples that sport o 1 er my bosom in glee, 
And joyously sing their bright way to the sea, 
Are hints of a far and a deep mystery 
Your hands cannot fathom, your eyes cannot 

see; 
And many a legend of lake and of fountain 
Is rocked in my waves, and lulled to its rest, 
And many a stream from its home on the 

mountain 
Has poured its wild song in my fathomless 

breast. 

27 



A DORIC REED 

Deep, deep, 'neath my tide 

I hold and I hide 
The ciphers and runes 
And mystical tunes 
Of Mays and of Junes 
That ages ago came to sing and to bide 
On my echoing shores, ere your hero wide- 
eyed 
With wonder descried 

My far-reaching waters, and looked with 

amaze 
On the length and the depth and the breadth 

of my ways. 
I hark to the voice of the Storm-King's loud 

call, 
I hark, but his might cannot hold me in thrall. 
The faint, floating zephyr, the tornado strong, 
Have passed o' er mybosom for centuries long, 
With raging and roaring, in dreamful repose, 
Yet bides not my current, forever it flows, 
On, on to the deep, 
Where ever shall sleep 
The records ye long for, but which I must 
keep! 
The wonderful lore 

Of the white morning frore, 
28 



APRIL FOOLS 

The glittering sheen 

On the tall fir-tree green, 
The icebergs that freeze 
In the far polar seas, 
The rent and the groan 
Of boulder and stone — 

Are sounding and swelling my grand mono- 
tone! 

O men, like vain shadows, ye come and ye go, 

Ye delve and ye suffer, ye toil and ye sow; 

Your labor is weary, your knowledge is slow. 

Ye span my proud waters, but never, I trow, 

Shall gather my wisdom, or learn what I 
know, — 

As onward and onward and onward I flow. 



APRIL FOOLS 

"\\ ^HEN comes fair and blithe April, 

VV Send a fool where'er you will." 
Thus doth read the halting rhyme 
Of the quaint and olden time, 
And we think the ancient creed 
Suited quite to modern need; 

29 



A DORIC REED 

April hath not lost a whit 

Of her charm, since first 'twas writ. 

Dearest maid of all the year, 

Bright with laughter, sweet with tear, 

Woman in her mind and rule, 

Who would not be April's fool? 

She will none of Winter's ire, 
Naught hath she of Summer's fire, 
Long as she doth hold her lease, 
Winds and waves must be at peace, 
While she softly, deftly weaves 
Fairy bow'rs of bloom and leaves, 
Proving, in her magic art, 
Earth is ever young at heart, 
Scattering on lake and lawn 
Etchings by young leaflets drawn, 
Shadow-pictures on the pools, 
For the eyes of April fools! 

Oh, how dear her promises, 
Rich in unreaped harvestries! 
Dreamed-of joy is sweeter far 
Than the tasted pleasures are 5 
Lovelier than midsummer days 
Are her noons of golden haze. 
When thro' leafy ambuscade 
Sun-kissed cloudlets masquerade 
30 



■ 



JUNE 

On the bosom of the brook, 
When, perchance, with lute or book, 
Prone, "mid shadows sweet and cool, 
Lies the dreaming April fool ! 

She is truest alchemist, 

With her skies of amethyst, 

Marsh and meadow daisy-pied, 

Forest floor-ways beautified, 

Showing still some phase of good 

In her ever-changing mood; 

If she weep, or if she smile, 

She hath yet a way and wile, 

Human fancy to ensnare; 

Though her charms they may forswear, 

Boasted learning — wisdom's schools, — 

At her call are April fools! 



JUNE 

FULL-LEAFED, full-flowered, full- 
voiced, full-hearted June, 
Who art among thy sisters of the year, 
Like Hera 'mid her goddesses, complete 
In beauty's symmetry, where doth appear 

3i 



A DORIC REED 

All perfect graces, set in perfect tune! 
As viol's resonance and flute-tones sweet 

Fulfil desire of the expectant ear, 
So thy soft skies, with tenderness replete, 
Our unvoiced yearnings satisfy, and seem 
To love us with their loveliness ; day- 
beam, 
Grown common to familiar sight, hath caught 
New radiance from thy glance ; the brook' s 
redress 
From winter's thrall thy magic hand hath 

wrought, 
And she, with song and forest legend fraught, 

All jubilant to feel thy dear caress, 
Enchants the listening leaves with many a tale 
Which they, glad gossips, whisper through 

the vale 5 
While trumpet winds their battle blowings 

cease 
To sing with siren voice thy hymn of peace! 
Whatever is good thou dost make better 
still. 
White-winged swan clouds sailing in quiet 

sky, 
Swift birds pouring their carols as they fly, 
Bright stars that almost speak their sym- 
pathy, 
32 



AUGUST 

The azure mountain-top and gleeful rill, 
The fragrant valley bloom and verdant hill, 
Sunshine and shadow, day and night, fulfil 
Thy joy, and Earth is Paradise at thy sweet 
will! 



AUGUST 

NOW Nature sits with folded hands, 
As resting from the busy year, 
While o'er the wide and teeming lands 

She contemplates the goodly cheer 
She gives j all energizing powers 
Lie mute and still, and drowsy hours 
Move noiselessly, their jocund moods 
And songs foregoing: in deep woods 
And fields, a slumb'rous silence broods 
Unbroken, save by beetles' drone 
And o'er-fed bees' dull monotone, 
Or leaves' low rustle as they make 
A pathway for the gliding snake. 

The patient cows seek shadows cool, 
That stretch themselves like giants prone 

Along the edges of the pool — 
And midst the waters stand knee-deep, 
In dreamy, semi-conscious sleep. 

33 



— 



A DORIC REED 

Birds sing no more, but on the hill 
The tender plaint of whip-poor-will, 

Who, telling oft her woful tale, 
Lingers full late after her time, — 
While at slow intervals the chime 

Of sheep-bells in the distant vale 
Falls on the ear like tuneful rhyme, 
Lulling the senses, till in idle dreams, 
We half forget the real in the thought of 
that which seems. 



THE SOLACE OF NATURE 

OH, come and rest! — 
Thou who art sad and sore of worldly 
strain, 
Fair Nature calls, and woostheeto her breast. 

Her yearning heart is fain 
To cheer thine own, and she hath many a cure 
For wounded souls, from fountains fresh and 
pure ! 

Leave tedious books, 

And read the Scripture writ on flow'ry 
plain, 
The Gospel of the softly singing brooks 
And fields of mellow grain, — 
34 



THE SOLACE OF NATURE 

Love's Revelation sweet, — and thou shaltbe 
Too full of joy to know satiety! 

The flowerful maze 

Of herbage lush in wild abandonment, 
The mountain steep, and winding forest ways 

With bright-eyed blooms besprent, 
And peaceful valleys 1 tilth, — hold balm to 

ease 
The aching heart and o'erwrought mind's 
disease! 

Kind Mother Earth 

Shall quicken thy dead courage, — as that 
one 
Who caught new strength when he but 
touched her girth, 
And noble victory won : — 
Lo! gracious ministers stand everywhere 
To lift from thee the burden of thy care ! 

For Nature hath 

Comfort wherewith a mother comforteth; 
Nor in her solace, Pain's reproach, nor 
scathj 
And her inspiring breath 
Shall wake thy dying hope to joyous life, 
And nerve thy faltering purpose to the strife ! 

35 



CIRCUMSTANCE 

WHENCE is thy might, O Circumstance, 
That thy dread clutch a human soul, 
A destiny, may seize? What chance 
Or power doth fix thy stern control? 

As petals in the calyx set, 

As gems wrought into metal's clasp, 
As gold ensnared in iron net — 

So are we held within thy grasp! 

May we not do, shall we not dare, 
If thy command doth say us nay? 

Shall life sink aimless in despair, 

When thou dost mock the prayers we pray? 

Art thou relentless? Far beyond 
Thy menace rises dauntless Will, 

Which dares to break thy ruthless bond, 
And nobler destiny fulfil! 

A craven he, who owns thy thrall, 
And yields his life to thy dictate. 

Who hears and heeds diviner call, 
He is the master of his fate! 

36 



THE BLEACHER 

The sea that bars us from the shore 
Itself shall bear us safely there, 

The winds, contentious, waft us o'er 
Wild waters to a haven fair; 

And e'en from Circumstance adverse 
The earnest, faithful soul may wrest 

True victory, and from her curse 

Win patience that shall make him blest! 



THE BLEACHER 

ON mountain bare and field grass-shorn, 
On hedgerow bright with bloom new- 
born, 
In frowning Winter's tempests rude, 
In smiling Summer's kindly mood, 
'Neath morning's ray and stars' soft light, 
The bleacher toils through day and night — 
" Ay, white and whiter still! " cries he, 
" As white as snow my work must be! " 

Upon the warp and woof new spun 
Fall chill of frost and fire of sun, 
The bitter storm's relentless pain, 
The gentle dew, and nursing rain, 

37 



A DORIC REED 

The while the bleacher's watchful eye 
Each spot and blemish doth descry — 
" Without a fault or stain," cries he, 
" As pure as snow my work shall be! " 

Unwearied plies his skilful hand, 
Fulfilling all his thought hath planned 5 
Nor doth the bruised flax complain 
Nor question aught he may ordain, 
But meekly yields each fold and shred, 
Until the cleansed and chastened thread, 
Transformed to stainless, lustrous white, 
Shines in effulgent beauty bright! 

We stand bewildered with our woe 5 
God's mysteries we may not know. 
The fiery trial, whose keen dart 
Doth pierce and burn our inmost heart, 
Cold disappointment's blighting chill, 
Dark sorrow's storms, — all do His will; 
For bleached at last we all must be 
If we His purity would see ! 



38 



THE THRESHING-FLOOR 

THROUGH the autumn air rings the 
thresher's flail, 
And its rhythmic stroke breaks the merry 
song 
Of the reapers gay in the fruitful vale 

As the harvest-triumphs they bear along. 
Oh, 'tis well that they sing, for they do not 

know 
The pang and the hurt of the thresher' s blow ! 

But, alas! the beautiful, growing grain 
In its quivering heart is sick and sore, 

As it falls from the teeming, groaning wain 
To the hard and pitiless threshing-floor, 

While the reapers are shouting their harvest 
song 

As they joyously bear their sheaves along. 

Like the ruthless storm of the sleet and hail, 

Like the wind's sharp bite to the tender 

leaf, 

Fall the stinging blows of the thresher's flail 

On the trembling form of the helpless sheaf, 

While the reapers are singing their glad refrain 

Of the golden math and the loaded wain. 

39 



A DORIC REED 

But the work of the bruising flail is done 
When each tiny grain of the winnowed 
wheat 
From the grasp of the husk and sheath is won, 
From the taint of the chaff is clean and 
sweet, 
And the reapers' loud songs as they home- 
ward go 
Wake the echoes clear in the vale below. 

O my soul, from the chaff of vain desire, 
From the stubble and straw of worldly 
pride, 
So shalt thou be threshed, until thou aspire 

To the purer joys that for aye abide; 
Till from all earthly thraldom thou art made 

loose 
And meet for the Heavenly Master's use! 



A RAINY DAY 

WITH dreary monotone, the rain 
Increasing drones its said refrain, 
And from the darkened heavens no ray 
Of gladsome light, — a rainy day! 
40 



.— - 



A RAINY DAY 

And yet I give thee welcome, rain, 
For in thy dull and sombre train 
Come glorious, goodly company, 
Fair Thought and pleasant Memory! 

Ay, come and sit thee down, sweet Thought, 
Unfold the treasures thou hast brought 
From many a distant clime and age, 
From many a rich, historic page, — 
Bright gems upon the brow of Time, 
And flowers fresh in morning prime! 
Discourse me fair, for when thou 'rt nigh, 
I fear nor cloud nor angry sky. 

And thou, O cherished Memory! 
A dearer spot I hold for thee. 
Thine arms enwrap me, heart and brain, 
Dispelling every sense of pain: — 
Thy charmed spell is on me now; 
I feel thy touch upon my brow. 
Sweet, sunny fields again I see 5 
Once more upon my mother's knee 
I sit, and read within her eyes 
The love that o'er my pathway lies; 
I hear the brooks and wood-notes wild 
Of birds, — the laughter of a child 
More blithe than any joyous thing 
That cleaves the air with buoyant wing! 

4i 



A DORIC REED 

O clouds lined with bright memories! 
O fruitful, thought-awakening rain! 
It took the sunlight from my skies 
To send me yet a richer gain; 
The grateful earth receives her share 
And earnest of a harvest fair; 
My nourished soul expands and grows 
To deeper joy and strong repose ! 



AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT 

WITHIN a wall-engirdled town, 
Historic in its wide renown, 
With jealous care, a cloistered crypt 
Enshrines an ancient manuscript. 

Six centuries have stamped their age 
Upon the venerated page, — 
And men felt life itself were fit 
To give for what was thereon writ. 

What hands were they of monk or saint 
Inscribed its characters so quaint, — 
Oft clasped, perhaps, in fervent prayer, 
Lest wrong or blot might enter there ? 
42 



— . 



AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT 

Who, seated at his lonely desk, 
Wrought ornament and arabesque, 
With patient toil and rare design 
Accomplishing each leaf and line? 

No noise of fierce, impetuous steam 
Disturbed his thought or marred his dream 5 
Nor iron finger of machine 
The parchment leaflets thrust between, — 

Nor sought in its relentless grasp 
The sacred vellum to enclasp j 
But hand and heart and mind did join 
To shape each paragraph and coign ; — 

Until the letters and the word 
With human life and love were stirred, 
Until the pages of the book 
Caught something of a human look. 

Ah, faithful scribe, we know not where 
Or how thy dust may rest, but there, 
Upon the dingy parchment scroll, 
We read thy life, thy heart and soul! 

And this we know, the patient hand 
Hath clasped, within the Promised Land, 
The Master's feet, — the loving eyes 
Have opened in sweet Paradise! 

43 



FOR LOVE'S SAKE 

AY, love me, sweet, with all thy hearty 
Thy mind, thy soul, and all thou art 
And hop' st to be, — love me with love 
That naught beneath the heavens may move; 
Yet say not wherefore; say not why 
Thou lovest, — since in these do lie 
The seeds of death to Love, — but say 
Thou lovest and must love alway! 

For should' st thou love some witching grace 
Of word or manner, form or face, — 
Should thy heart's worship thus be bought 
By any gift that time hath wrought, — 
So art thou false to Love's pure creed, 
And like to fail in sorest need; 
But love for Love's dear sake, I pray, 
Then shalt thou love me, sweet, alway! 



NEW LOVE 

ANEW love and a true love 
Is the love for me and for you, Love. 
The past is fled, 
Let us bury its dead, 
And begin life and love anew, Love! 
44 



NEW LOVE 

A new love and a true love 
Is waiting for me and for you, Love. 
We've drained the cup 
Cruel Fate has rilled up, 
And our pleasures have been but few, Love; 

But a new love and a true love 
Will bring joy to me and to you, Love$ 
For sorrows borne 
Will we no longer mourn 
When happiness now is in view, Love! 

A new love and a true love 
Is beckoning to me and to you, Love. 
The way is rough, 
But there's still love enough 
In this wicked old world for two, Love! 

A new love and a true love 

Is coming to me and to you, Love. 

'Twill teach us yet 

To forgive and forget, 
And the wrong by the right to undo, Love! 

A new love and a true love 

Is sweetest to me and to you, Love. 

Look up, brave wife, 

To a happier life, 
For now we are on with the new love! 

45 



WILD ROSE BY THE SEA 

WILD Rose by the stormy sea 
Bloomed so fresh and fair, 
That the wonder came to me 
She was growing there, — 
Far from home on grassy lea, 
On a rock by wind-tossed sea, 
Blooming bright and sweet was she, 
In her beauty rare. 

Wild Rose, say, how can it be 
Thou dost bloom so fair, 

By the cold and cruel sea, 
Without fear or care ? 

Sweet thy home on fragrant lea, 

Where soft skies are nursing thee, 

But to brave the angry sea, 

Wild Rose, canst thou dare? 

Nay, said Wild Rose, I must be 

Always fresh and fair, 
And where'er thou findest me, 

God has placed me there; 
And I bloom by rock-bound sea 
Bright as on the flowery lea, 
And my sweets I give as free 
To the briny air! 

4 6 



MY MARGUERITE 

I LOOK upon her brow and see 
A radiant, crystal purity, 
And find within her azure eyes 
The loveliness of summer skies 5 
She is so sweet, 
My Marguerite, 
I fain would kneel and kiss her feet! 

If she but deign one word to say, 
I hold a treasure for the day; 
Doth she but smile, a halo bright 
Encircles all my dreams by night 5 

The dusty street, 

Pressed by her feet, 
Becomes a royal palace seat! 

My life to her dear life has grown, 
Till all my being is her own, 
And every thought and hope her due, 
Though I am forty, she but two; 

And oh, so sweet 

Is Marguerite, 
I kneel and kiss her dainty feet! 



47 



THE HERMIT THRUSH 

FAR in remotest depths of forest 
Dwells a poet, — 
His house in very heart of nature — 

And I know it — 
By shying streamlets and the wildwood 
That lead to it! 

A hermit he, from the world hiding; 

Like anchorite, 
In solitude of the Thebaid; — 

With morning light 
Intones his matins, and his vespers 

At fall of night ! 

What sin torments his tender conscience, 

That he doth flee 
All haunts of men, like that old worthy, 

Saint Anthony, — 
In plaintive monotone thus telling 

His rosary ? 

Whate'er he be, or saint or sinner, 

Or, if his sighs 
Be prayer or penance, mayhap, sermons, 

Such sweetness lies 
In them as gives my soul a foretaste 

Of Paradise! 
48 



THE JAY-BIRD 

BLUE-JAY! — 
The dreadful things that people say- 
Give you dark reputation — 
To carry sand-grains, day by day 
To burn poor sinners, forced to stay- 
in purgatory fires alway, 

Is sure a bad vocation! 
But when I 've seen you sit a-tilt 
On bough, and sing so sweet a lilt, 
I feel inclined to doubt your guilt, 

And think perchance you are belied 
By those who seek to turn your pride 
To scorn and reprobation! 

True-blue 
You are, and since so very few, 

Through trial and temptation, 
Keep ever to their colors true, 
But like chameleons change their hue 
To suit each time and place, — your due 

Is honest commendation 5 — 
And yet, a debt of hate we owe 
That you thus add to sinners' woe. 
But oh, your song is sweet, I know! — 

And since I come to think, Blue-Jay, 
There is so much that people say 
Not worth consideration! 

49 



K 



THE IDLE BOY 

WHITHER away, shining brooklet? 
Oh, stay 
With me, I pray. 

No, idle boy, no! 
I must flow 
To the river, who 's waiting for me, 
To carry me on to the deep, deep sea. 
I must away} 
I cannot stay! 

Whither away, flying birdie ? Oh, stay 
With me, I pray. 

No, idle boy, no! 

I must go 
To the little ones waiting for me 
In the top of the budding apple-tree, 

And I must fly — 

Good-by! Good-by! 

Whither away, sailing cloudlet ? Oh, stay 
With me, I pray. 

No, idle boy, no! 

I must show 
To the world, ere the fall of night, 
The beautiful tints of the sunset bright. 

Fast speeds the day, 

I must away! 

5° 



DETHRONED 

A KING was he yesterday, ruling his realm 
By a nod or a beck of his hand, 
And never were subjects more loyal or proud 

Of a sovereign's behest and command. 
A King yesterday; but alas for the change 

Which may come in a night or a morn ! 
The King is dethroned, for to-day came the 
Queen 
When the sweet baby sister was born. 



ARCADY 

OH, where is Land of Arcady ? 
For thither would I haste away, 
So sore and torn this heart of me 

By thorns and briars of work-a-day ! 
The faltering feet and throbbing brain 

Are weary of the ceaseless gride, 
The shrill discord of worldly strain, — 
And long in Arcady to hide! 

There untempestuous waters flow, 

And waves in fugue mellifluous meet; 

There winged zephyrs gently blow 
From many an odorous retreat, — 

5 1 



A DORIC REED 

Oh, loose me from the toil and task! 

Unbind my fetters — set me free — 
In peace, unvexed by care, to bask 

'Neath leafy shade of Arcady! 

Away from guileful tongue and lip, — 

My only gossips be the leaves, 
That whisper how the Fairies trip 

The sward, and dance among the 
sheaves, — 
Away from gay and gilded hall, 

To Palace of the sky's soft blue, — 
Away from Fashion's heartless thrall 

To hearts and hands unstained and true ! — 

Where lyrics from each bush and tree 

To blissful dreams enchant the ear, 
Where mellow music floats from bee, 

And Colin woos his Phyllis dear, — 
Where buoyant heart and lissome limb 

Respond in joyous sympathy, 
Where Pleasure's cup fills to the brim, — 

O ho! set sail for Arcady! 



5 2 



FOR ME 

I WOULD not say her form or face 
Possesses a surpassing grace 5 
And daintier hands than hers, I trow, 
Have soothed the weary, aching brow 5 
And fairer cheeks and brighter eyes 
Have waked enraptured lovers"' sighs; — 
Yet in those eyes one charm I see, — 
It is a look of love for me. 

Her voice has not the wondrous power 
To lure, like perfume in the flower; 
Nor word of hers e'er stirred the sense 
By its resistless eloquence; 
Her smile only reveals the good, 
True heart of noble womanhood; — 
Yet charms in voice and smile I see, 
For both speak wealth of love for me. 



RESPONSIBILITY 

OUT of the window my bird doth fly, 
Far beyond reach of my vision's strain; 
Boldly he sails to the bright blue sky, — 
Yet will he come back to me again, 

53 



*»"■*— — — *— ^ r— — — - — -^ 



A DORIC REED 

Back to my loving and outstretched hand, 
Back to my nurture and my command. 

Without a sigh 

I see him fly, — 
He will come back to me by and by! 

Out from my bosom a thought doth fly 5 

Over the ocean it sails afar 
Where blooming shores in a rapture lie, — ■ 
Through the wide heavens from star to 
star, 
Or midst the shades of the silent land, 
Yet heeds my bidding and my command: 
I ask not why 
It seeks to fly, — 
It will come back to me by and by! 

Out from the precious and scanty dole 

Time measures me, golden moments fly; 
Swiftly they speed to their destined goal, 

Bearing each lost opportunity. 
Flown are the winged and shining band, 
Never to hearken to my command: 
Shall I ask why? 
We must, for aye, 
Meet in eternity by and by! 



54 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

VERY peacefully they rest, — 
Who, in life by Peace unblest, 
Caught the war-cry fierce and shrill, 
Felt the battle's shock and thrill, 
Heard the dreadful cannon's roar, — 
Death behind and death before, — 
Fighting on the sea and land, 
Foot to foot and hand to hand ! 

Very peacefully they rest, — 
North and South and East and West — 
While the heaven-descending dew 
Falls alike on Gray and Blue, 
While the cheering light of day 
Shines on Blue and shines on Gray; 
Weary march and battle sore 
Past for them forevermore! 

Very peacefully they rest, — 

And the babes whose cheeks they pressed 

In a last good-by have stood 

O'er their graves in proud manhood, 

And in holy wedlock true 

Plighted hearts of Gray and Blue; 

In the light of hearthstone fires 

Tell the deeds of soldier-sires! 



55 



FIRST EASTER MORN 

FIRST Easter Morn, 
When the three Marys wept with bitter 
tears, 
Sharp disappointment, — agonizing fears, 

In grief forlorn : — 
Methinks soft angel voices must have stirred 
The olive branches of Gethsemane 
With heavenly comfortings and blessed word 
Of peace, like that which Noah's faithful bird 
Brought from afar across a troubled sea! 

First Easter Morn! — how looked thy light 

to him 
Whose eager, ofttime wayward feet outran 
The loved disciple in thy dawning dim 
To look upon the grave of the God-Man! 
To heart made sad by its own faithlessness, 
Brought not thy cheering ray some prescience 
Of joy, born even from grief's throe and 

stress — 
That reached to hope, thro' veil of doubt 

and sense? 

Ay, gently fell thy light on eyes that wept 
In sorest agony, th' apostate tongue, 
The trait' rous fear, the solemn vow unkept, 
The Master's look, the keen remorse that 
stung 

56 



FIRST EASTER MORN 

Too deep a wound for earth to heal again ; — 
Ay, in thy gladness, weary, weeping eyes 
And broken heart did find surcease of pain 
And foretaste of the blessed Paradise ! 

First Easter Morn! 
When Death was shorn 
Of all his terrors, and became the friend 
Who leads us to that portal, crystal white, 
Where all things sorrowful have found their 

end, 
And thorns are changed for starry crowns 

of light! 
O wondrous, holy Morn of second birth! 
From thee all blessings and all glories stream, 
As radiant colors that bedeck the earth 
Lie concentrate in white effulgent beam ! — 
Inspire our fainting, grovelling souls, that 

we 
No longer seek the living 'mong the dead, 
But with a steadfast eye and lifted head 
Behold the glories of Eternity! 



57 



EASTER FLOWERS 

O LOVELY flowers, be my priests to-day! 
Ye hold a revelation so divine 
That midst your holy incense I must pray, 
And make confession, too, at your sweet 
shrine. 
What need to sit beneath the frescoed dome 
Of minster or cathedral, when ye preach 
From purer altars in your silent home 

The lesson that my inmost soul doth reach, 
And, captivating sense, doth all my senses 
teach ! 
Bright quickeners of thought and re- 
trospection, 
Beholding ye, can I doubt resurrection, 
Or question still a Father's sure pro- 
tection.'' 

O fair Apostles, older than the creed 

Of church or council, or those fishermen 
Who, toiling by the sea in human need, 
Took heart atsightof yeandhomeagain ! — 
Your chalices held the libation 
That consecrated Earth's creation; 
And Litanies ye chant in sadness 
Arose in Eden's bowers of gladness. 

58 



HE 



EASTER-TIDE 

A sabbath and a temple everywhere 

Ye make, and all may kneel and worship 

there : 
Shrive me, sweet priests, and if I be forgiven, 
What ye have loosed sure will be loosed in 

heaven ! 



EASTER-TIDE 

SAY, how shall we keep it, — the Easter- 
Tide, 
When the glad Earth smiles, like a flower- 
crowned bride, 
And her lord, the sun, in his shining place 
As giant, rejoices to run his race; 
When birds and bells in sweet carol and 

chime 
Are telling the joy of the blessed time, 
And Nature is thrilling with ecstasy, — 
Oh, what shall our song and our keeping be? 

Shall we challenge the world with swelling 

pride, 
Shall we wear its pomp that the Lord denied, 

59 



A DORIC REED 

Shall we follow the things of Death whom He 
Hath vanquished in triumphant victory? 
Shall our Easter die with the altar flow'rs 
And praises that burst from these lips of ours? 
Ay, the Lord is risen in verity, — 
Say, what shall our joy and our keeping be? 

O friends of the Master! what can it be 
But the feast of truth and sincerity, 
Unleavened with malice or wickedness, 
The heart to forgive and the hand to bles*, 
The eyes that shall pity our brother's thrall, 
Since Jesus has died and risen for all ? 
In the Gospel spirit and love to bide, 
Lo! this is the keeping of Easter-Tide! 



THE EASTER FEAST 

HOW shall we keep the Easter feast! 
With pomp of praise and pride of priest? 
With flow'r-crowned altars, burning bright, 
And lofty temple's gorgeous rite? 
With sounding song, that swings and swells 
To rhythm sweet of chiming bells, 
And charm of worldly cheer increased? 
Is this the Christian's Easter feast? 
60 



THE BABBLING BROOK 

Nay, nay; the Easter victory 
Is humble heart's sincerity, 
Which, leaving malice in the tomb 
Of buried sin, forsakes its gloom, 
And rises to the joy, high-priced, 
Won for us by our risen Christ! 
Loving for Jesus' sake the least 
Of His — this is the Easter feast ! 



THE BABBLING BROOK 

»np WAS in the month o" Maying that a 
A man and maid went straying 
Blooming fields and meadows green 
a-through. 
But what the man was saying, or the pretty 
maid betraying, 
Why, the simple smiling meadows never 
knew ! 

Down woodland ways enchanted and through 
flower-brake bird-haunted, 
Where the leaves in gossip whispered low, 
The man and maid went faring, but the 
vows the two were swearing, 
Why, the green and silly leaflets did not 
know! 

61 



Lsp 



A DORIC REED 

And still the hour of gloaming found the 
happy pair a-roaming 
By the water-ways in valleys sweet, 
Where a brooklet wise and wily wound 
about their pathway slyly, 
With a song of murmured music at their 
feet. 

And aye that brooklet listened, and its waters 
glanced and glistened, 
Till it laughed aloud in gurgling glee, 
As it hurried over highways, through the 
hedges and the by-ways, 
On its way to tell a secret to the sea! 

Deem not a word of warning meet for man 
or maiden's scorning, 
Who from morn to eve a-Maying go; 
For brooklets can discover all the words and 
ways of lover, 
And will babble every secret that they 
know! 



62 



WHEN POLLY TAKES THE AIR 

A LITTLE wicker basket rolls 
Along the pavement walk, 
And at the sight, the young and old 

. Begin to laugh and talk, 
And wave fair hands, and kisses throw, 

And cry: " Look here! " "See there!" 
"This way it comes! " — and all because 
Sweet Polly takes the air! 

The newsboys run and shout with glee, 

And follow on behind 5 
The coachman and the footman gaze 

As if they had a mind 
To do the same; the good old priest 

Stands still with solemn stare, — 
As down the shady avenue 

Sweet Polly takes the air! 

From every window shines a head 

Of clustering, golden curls, 
And every door grows bright with throng 

Of merry boys and girls 5 
The butler and the maid forget 

To work, — as on the stair 
They peep and pry, with curious eye, 

When Polly takes the air! 

63 



A DORIC REED 

And all the while sweet Polly sits 

In dainty gown and hat, 
And smiles on one she loves the best, — 

Her pretty Maltese cat, — 
And softly coos, when pussy purrs, 

Without a thought or care 
How all the town turns upside down 

When Polly takes the air! 



NANCY'S WAY 

WHEN in Fashion's dainty prime 
Pretty Nancy walks the street, 
Half the town is keeping time 
To the rhythm of her feet, 
While the other half looks gay, 
As if smiling lips would say: 
" Nancy, Nancy, darling Nancy, 
Charming Nancy, come this way!' 

Bright and blooming as a rose, 
Heeding neither smile nor sigh, 

Down the street sweet Nancy goes, 
Passing all her lovers by, 

6 4 



— 



NANCY'S WAY 

Never granting yea nor nay 

Though the lips and glances pray: 

" Nancy, Nancy, lovely Nancy, 

Please, dear Nancy, come this way! 1 ' 

Then, between the leafy shades, 

Birds grow bolder, without fear ; 
As sweet Nancy promenades 

Sing they louder and more clear, 
Trilling, thrilling roundelay: 

" Glad we are this sunny day; 
Nancy, Nancy, pretty Nancy, 

Darling Nancy comes our way! " 

But sweet Nancy 's full of care, 

Hears she neither song nor talk, 
Hardly more can maiden bear, 

When she's learning how to walk; 
And her tiny feet will stray 

Spite of all that nurses say. 
Nancy, Nancy, toddling Nancy, 

Nancy has her own sweet way! 



65 



MY GREAT-GREAT UNCLES 
WIFE 

ABOVE a quaint old chimney-piece 
A canvas glows with life, — 
You almost look for smile and speech, 

My great-great uncle's wife, 
In lace fichu and feathered toque, — 

A masterpiece of West, 
Who crowned his fame with this proud dame, 
The noble, fair Celeste! 

Right loyal blood was hers, I trow, 

In time of peace or war, 
Whose trusty swords were true to France 

And Henry of Navarre! 
Whose hearts and hands ne'er quailed nor 
failed 

When duty made her claim, 
Nor feared a foe, the world could show, — 

Of nation or of name ! 

But doughty deeds and valiant hearts 

Were helpless to protect 
In Terror's Reign, when every home 

Of France was held "suspect," 
Till fair Celeste, with woman's wit 

And will, contrived the plan 
To cheat the ear of Robespierre, 

And all his murderous clan! 
66 



«■- 



GREAT-GREAT UNCLE'S WIFE 

One misty morn at brink of day 

A team drove to the line 5 
The sentinel looked grim and called, 

" Good citizen, the sign! " 
Quick came the magic talisman, 

" Ay, citizen, what freight? *" 
" The casks of beer bound for frontier." 

" Pass this team through the gate! " 

In cargo safe of friendly ship 

The casks of beer were stored, — 
The most intoxicating beer 

That ever came aboard, 
The Captain said to mate and crew, 

When on the deck appeared 
A velvet cloak and feathered toque, 

And every sailor cheered! 

Long reigned this maid and matron fair, 

Of hearts and homes the queen, 
In land that owned no tyrant's rule, 

And feared no guillotine ; 
And great-grandsons the story tell 

Of how she won the sign, 
And made small beer of Robespierre, 

The day she passed the line ! 



67 



MISS NANCY'S GOWN 

IN days when George the Third was King 
And ruled the Old Dominion, 
And Law and Fashion owned the sway 

Of Parliament's opinion, 
A good ship brought across the sea 

A treasure fair and fine, — 
Miss Nancy's gown from London town, 
The latest Court design! 

The plaited waist from neck to belt 

Scarce measured half a span, 
The sleeves, balloon-like, at the top 

Could hold her feather fan; 
The narrow skirt with bias gore 

Revealed an ankle neat, 
Whene'er she put her dainty foot 

From carriage-step to street! 

By skilful hands this wondrous gown 

Of costliest stuff was made, 
Cocoons of France on Antwerp looms 

Wrought to embossed brocade, 
Where roses red and violets 

In blooming beauty grew, 
As if young May were there alway, 

And June and April too! 
68 



MISS NANCY'S GOWN 

And from this bower of delight 

Miss Nancy reigned a Queen, 
Nor one disloyal heart rebelled 

In all her wide demesne; 
The noble House of Burgesses 

Forgot its fierce debate 
O'er rights of Crown, when Nancy's gown 

Appeared in Halls of State! 

Through jocund reel, or measured tread 

Of stately minuet, 
Like fairy vision shone the bloom 

Of rose and violet, 
As hand in hand with Washington, 

The hero of the day, 
The smiling face and nymph-like grace 

Of Nancy led the way! 

A century, since that gay time 

The merry dance was trod, 
Has passed, and Nancy long has slept 

Beneath the churchyard sod; 
Yet on the brocade velvet gown 

The rose and violet 
Are blooming bright as on the night 

She danced the minuet ! 



6 9 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

O'ER many a land I have roamed, and 
have gazed 
On famous cathedral and dome, — 
Westminster, St. Paul's, and the Pope's 
Vatican, 
And noble St. Peter's at Rome 5 
On art mediaeval and mansions coeval, 

With modern invention and gain; 
But nothing, I ween, 'mong the sights I have 
seen, 
Compares to my castles in Spain ! 

The Tuileries' splendor, old England's 
grand halls, 
And Venice with palaces fine, 
And legend-crowned castles, and battle- 
ments stern 
That watch o'er the waters of Rhine; 
Tho' glamoured by mystery, famous in 
history, 
Their boasting I calmly disdain, 
Since none of them dare their proud glories 
compare 
To castles F ve builded in Spain ! 
70 



CASTLES IN SPAIN 

The sacred Byzantine of the Sublime Porte — 

E'en temples of Athens seem poor; 
The gold-bedecked roofs of Haroun Alras- 
chid, 
And carved architecture of Moor; 
The wondrous Alhambra with pillar and 
chamber, 
Taj Mahal and Mussulman's fane, — 
And tall minaret, — they all lack something 
yet 
Compared to my castles in Spain! 

For castles like mine can all changes defy — 

The ravage of war and of time, 
Nor fiercest disaster by wind or by wave 

May tarnish their radiant prime; 
Than models of Grecian or high art Venetian 

Their beauty shall longer remain; 
For though time is fleeting, man's heart is 
still beating 

To build his bright castles in Spain! 

And right to these castles no man can dispute, 

Nor find in my title a flaw; 
As treasures in heaven, they're safe from 
the thief, 
And free from the clutches of law; 

7* 



A DORIC REED 

All question of tariff and action of sheriff 

Assail my possessions in vain, 
For though a whole bevy of them should 
make levy, 

They can't touch my castles in Spain! 



ON AN OLD CABINET 

IN Boston shop and wareroom stands, — 
A voyager from foreign lands, — 
A rare and curious cabinet, 
With carven doors and drawers, and set 
With quaint, ingenious tracery, — 
A guest from ancient Brittany! 

And here and there a secret spring 

Or lock reveals some hidden thing, 

Some nook, or cranny, planned with skill 

To answer to the owner's will, 

And like some folk we know, to hide 

Dark mystery 'neath fair outside. 

A full three hundred years ago 
'T was built when human hands were slow; 
72 



MMMJ****4 



ON AN OLD CABINET 

But, ah, how sure and deft they were! 
Each builder and artificer 
An artist, bringing to his art 
A skilful hand and loving heart! 

What treasures have been hidden there, — 

A ring, — a gem, — a lock of hair, — 

A document of king or state, — 

A subject's love, — a rival's hate, — 

A loss, a triumph, or a gain, — 

Secure from eyes and hands profane! 

And many a wondrous sight, I ween, 

The rare old cabinet hath seen 

Of revelry in "festive hall, 

And doughty deed on castle wall. 

For words and blows were fierce, when man 

And foe were met in old Bretagne! 

And now in world untried and new, — 
Perchance in mansion parvenu, — 
Among a strange and alien race 
The rare old cabinet finds place, 
And ends a history that began 
In proud chateau of old Bretagne. 



73 



HER NAME 

I PONDERED long — you've done the 
same 
No doubt — on what should be the name 
Of that fair one whom Fate and I 
Should choose for true Love's constancy. 
Mythology and legend — classic lore — 
I searched, and yet I looked for something 
more! 

Should she be Helen, — goddess ? — queen ? 
The very name pictures a scene 
Of discord, — I '11 not put my Troy 
At such a chance for such a toy. 
Fair Venus made a dupe of young Paris, 
And I'll not risk my heart with that bold 
Miss. 

Lucretia was a model dame 5 

Besides, — I rather like the name 5 

But then I 'd fear a tragedy ; 

Her mood is too high strung for me. 

Cornelia's fair, — but then she had a way 

Of repartee and having the last say ! 

Virginia! Ah, a charming wife! 
But that I 'd always see the knife 

74 



HER NAME 

At her white throat, — Iphigenia, 
A martyr whom I much admire ! 
Aspasia might suit great Pericles, 
But she would never do for times like 
these ! 

Rebecca might win Ivanhoe 
(It seems, alas, she didn't, though) 5 
The proud and beautiful Rowena 
I might have loved, if I had seen her, — 
I 'm glad I did n't; — as for Rosamond, 
She's just the woman I would most have 
shunned! 

O sweet, O lovely, sad Elaine! 
The very thought of her gives pain; 
And so for royal Guinevere, — 
'Tis well she's quite as rare as fair. 
And husbands of the nineteenth century 
Griselda's patience must not look to see. 

The Gretchens are not to my taste, — 
Nor Katrines; there is too much waist 
And sauer-kraut; the French madame 
Loves France too well for Uncle Sam. 
Mary's too sacred, and a heart like mine 
Must look for some one rather less divine. 

75 



A DORIC REED 

Aurora rises much too soon; 

I like to see the sun — at noon; 

I do not care to wake the flowers 

Nor do I dote on early hours; 

Phyllis and Phoebe love the milking pail 5 

I like a beauty rather pale than hale. 

Berthas who fill a poet's mind, 

And Mauds, to gardens I resigned. 

In vain my wanton fancy roved; 

I never found the name I loved. 

The girl I met, I love, — yes, I adore her; 

I never asked her name, — they call her Norah ! 



76 



SONNETS 



77 



■ 



— -i 



BACH 

AS some cathedral vast, whose lofty spire 
Is ever pointing upward to the sky, 
Whose grand proportions, transept, nave, 
and choir, 
Impress with awe, and charm by sym- 
metry, — 
Stupendous pile, where sister arts with grave 
And loving tenderness mould form and 
frieze, 
Adorn entablature and architrave, 

And touch with life the marble 
effigies, — 
So, great tone-master, strength and sweet- 
ness dwell 
In thee, close-knit in interwoven chain 
Of harmony, by whose resistless spell, 

Uplifted to sublime, supernal strain, 
The soul shall reach the noble, true, and 

pure, — 
Strong to achieve, and faithful to endure ! 



79 



BEETHOVEN 

SUBLIMEST Master, thou, of harmony, 
From whose untroubled depths serenely 
flow 
The sinuous streams of sweetest melody ; 

Now in exhaustless fulness dost thou know 

The joy divine thy raptured strains foretold ; 

God's harmony thy prayer hath satisfied, 

His music on thy listening ear hath rolled 5 

Accord unmarred, for which thy spirit 

sighed, 

In its completeness, through the eternal years 

Is thine 5 thy yearning soul its echo dim 
Didst catch amid thy mortal woes and fears, — 
An earnest of the blest, perpetual hymn, 
And legacy to us, which shall inspire, 
With something of thy pure, celestial fire. 



80 



MOZART 

AS through the leafy close the crystal shine 
Of streamlet purling on its way is seen, 
Nor in its mazes down the clust'ring green 
Of interlacing boughs and pendent vine, 
Nor 'neath the shadows of the day's decline 
Is hid, — so doth thy melody's bright 

sheen 
Flash through close harmony's inwoven 
screen 5 
And well we call thy matchless strains divine ! 
Who lists shall live in Golden Age once 
more, 
Shall catch the voice of sweet Arcadian 
lutes, 
Behold, as erst, glad nymphs dance on 
the shore, 
To tabor's sound and dithyrambic 
flutes, — 
Hear Philomel within the moonlit grove, 
And tuneful shepherd piping to his love. 



81 



MENDELSSOHN 

HARK! hear the lark, bold prodigal, elate 
And jubilant, his wealth of music fling 
To listening vales, that all-expectant wait 
The thrilling touch of rosy-fingered 
Spring ! 
Thus hath she touched thy heart, O 
Mendelssohn, 
Till of her life and beauty thou art fain, 
And all her winning witcheries of tone, 

Her coy caprices, and her joyous strain 
Are thine. Lift but thy magic wand, and lo ! 
Queen Mab and all her fairy court shall 
trip 
To chorus of bright waterfalls, and flow 
Of streams melodious 'neath the rhythmic 
dip 
Of elfin oars, — while in enchanted boat, 
On sounds mellifluous, we dream and 
float! 



82 



SCHUMANN 

WHAT subtleties of song upon the loom 
Of Time, O Schumann, thy bold Fancy 

weaves, — 
Now gorgeous tapestries of shimmering 

leaves, 
Melodious birds, and fragrant fields of 

bloom; — 
And now a gossamer-spun canopy 
Meet for Olympian gods, and bright with 

beams 
Of never-fading stars, we see in dreams, 
And visions born of raptured ecstasy ! 
Anon, on smooth-wrought texture of sweet 

tones, — 
A sudden, plaintive wail of dissonance, 
Caught in the warp and woof of fair romance, 
Of joy's high carnival, or grief's low moans. 
Rare Weaver! — ere thy fabric's lustre pale, 
Time's shuttle, weary grown, itself shall fail ! 



83 



SCHUBERT 

WHO would know thee, a loving heart 
must bring, 
And hear with his heart's ears 5 else shall he 

miss 
Thy perfect message and his own true 

bliss, — 
As bird that fain would soar on single wing, 
But faints and falls in its unequal flight; 
For deepest depths of human tenderness 
Are thine, — the mother's love and dear 

caress, 
The wanderer's longing for the blessed sight 
Of home and Fatherland, the lover's heart, 
Wild with despair, or thrilled with joyance 

sweet 
Of happy souls who full requital meet. 
Thus nature's yearnings find in thee a part; 
O gentlest Master of them all, — since pain 
And joy do live, thou hast not lived in vain ! 






84 



CHOPIN 

OSOUL most beautiful, and loving heart! 
O bright, wild bird, — now crooning on 
thy nest, 
Now soaring, sped by a divine unrest, — 
How Nature speaks through thy perfected 

Art! — 
Till from our eyes ecstatic tears do start, 
Till all our soul and senses are possest, 
And we must weep or smile at thy behest, 
And in thine ever changing mood take part, 
Like watchers on enchanted Mount, who 
see 
Fair visions pass at a magician's call, — 
The fairer for their cloud of mystery, — 
Who feel the necromancer's spell and 
fall 
Entranced beneath its pow'r, nor would 
be free, 
So deep the rapture and so sweet the 
thrall! 



85 



PATIENCE 

YOUTH, full of golden visions, looked 
far down 
The vista of the future, where stood three 
So fair, so like to goddesses, that he 
At sight of them did thrill with joy 5 a crown 
In hand of each, and promise of renown, 
With which they beckoned all who 

looked, — their name 
Pleasure and Wealth and Honor. Thou- 
sands came 
With hearts untouched by pain, and some 

would drown 
All thought of what they were and what had 
been. 
With eager feet he hastened: — " I am 
blest 
If I but touch their garment's hem! ,, 
When lo, 
A sober matron heretofore unseen 

Thus spoke: — "Patience am I; take 
me, and know 
That having me, thou shalt have all the 
rest!" 



S6 



SUCCESS 

WHO says that he who hath not won 
success 
Hath failed, — or low endeavor crowned, 
compares 
To that high failure which hath felt the stress 
Of lofty purpose, — noble aim that dares, 
Like him who with Apollo strove, to cope 
With mightiest, though haply doomed, 
the goal 
To miss ? Do secret springs not feed his 
hope, 
Untasted by the base, ignoble soul ? 
Ill-fated Marsyas! was all thy pain 

For naught ? Nay, thou didst see a fair 

god's grace, 

Thine ear did drink his lyre's divinest strain 

And yet diviner voice. What can efface 

Thy joy, — and thy most glorious unsuccess 

O'er Phrygia flowed in stream of fruitfulness ! 



87 



PONTIUS PILATE 

WHERE'ER, O Roman, in God's 
universe 
Thou hast thy being, — in what distant 
sphere 
Thy conscious spirit dwells, — is thine the 
curse, 
The endless iteration thus to hear: 
"Who suffered under Pontius Pilate." — 
Aye 
To thrill with pain at childhood's lispings 
sweet, 
And strong men's pleadings, that long ages 
. pray: — 
"Since Thou hast suffered, kneel we at 
Thy feet!" 
Nay, nay, — I see thee in that ancient Gaul, 
Wailing thy wavering will with sore 
lament, 
And washing thy weak hands in bitter thrall 
To that remembered sin thou didst repent; 
I hear thee speak from out eternity: — 
"This man whom I condemned declares 
me free." 



8S 



TO WORDSWORTH 

THAT thou hast lived, the common 
things of earth, — 
The humble daisy and bright daffodil, 
The lowly, meek-eyed blossom that hath 
birth 
By dreary marsh and wayside hedge, the 
rill 
That winds its way thro' forest-shades 
unseen 5 
The very air we breathe, the light of day, 
The sea's soft murmur, and the field's sweet 
green j 
The anchored cloud that slips and sails 
away, 
The woodland echoes and the song of birds, 
Come to our souls with sacred meaning 
fraught, 
All radiant with the beauty of thy words, 
And rich with wealth of thy sublimest 
thought, — 
For thou hast made life's daily board a feast, 
O poet-seer and Nature's great High Priest! 



8 9 



THE LONELY SHORE 

LONELY, patient shore, waiting the 
tide 
In grief ! — thou dost not know grief s 
sorest pain 5 
Since heaven and earth, so long as they abide, 
Are pledged, thy waiting shall not be in 
vain, — 
He shall return, — the stars shall faint and 
fail, 
The faithful moon her vigilance forego, — 
Ere fiercest foe thy wanderer assail, 

Or direst ill his purpose overthrow ! 
For our beloved we watch with trembling 
hearts, — 
In weariness we wake and weep and 
wait, — 
Haunted by fear and goaded by his darts, 
Beguiled by hope, and mocked by jesting 
fate, — 
Till pain with joy doth half the triumph 

share, — 
Or, doomed at last, we languish in despair! 



90 



A SONNET 

WHAT is a sonnet ? — Ay, a jewel rare 
Within a crystal casket deftly caught, — 
A magic flute, whose fourteen stops are 
fraught 
With one divine and soul-entrancing air, — 
A wreathed shell, whose convolutions fair 
Are to such flawless symmetry enwrought 
It ever murmurs music it hath brought 
From deeps which many a wondrous secret 

bear, — 
A perfect form and spirit, as the rose, 
Who stirs not from the confines of her 
throne, 
Yet fills the spaces of the garden close 
With luscious scent and beauty all her 
own, — 
A captive nightingale in golden bars, 
Singing a song of rapture to the stars ! 



9 1 



FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF 
THIS BOOK (THIRTY-FIVE COPIES OF 
WHICH ARE ON HANDMADE PAPER) 
WERE PRINTED DURING NOVEMBER 
BY JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE 



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